


A Deadly Gambit

by Bittersweet



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Crime, Framed for murder, Friendship, Gen, Misdirection, Vancouver Canucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittersweet/pseuds/Bittersweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kesler and Burrows become entangled in a plot to frame Kesler for murder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Burrows was still wired after they had finished all the postgame stuff and gotten into the locker room. “Anyone want to hit the bars with me?” he called over the noise. There was a cheer from his teammates and he grinned; they’d beaten the Bruins 6-2, definitely a reason to celebrate. “How about you Kes?” he asked, Kesler’s voice suspiciously absent from the hum of the locker room.

“Sorry man,” Kesler said finishing stowing his gear and grabbing his coat. “I’ve got plans tonight.”

Burrows would have let it go if it weren’t for the way Kesler didn’t meet his eyes and lit out of the locker room like they were all a bunch of paparazzi. “I’ll catch up with you guys,” he said to Bieksa, grabbing his own coat from his locker. “Don’t drink all the beer.”

He jogged through the hall keeping his eyes open but not seeing Kesler. He reached the parking lot just in time to see the taillights of Kesler’s Jag turning left. He ran to his own car, threw his duffle onto the passenger’s seat through the driver’s side door and slid into the driver’s seat. He followed Kesler, keeping the other car’s taillights just within his sight. His confusion deepened when Kesler drove out of Vancouver and turned down a side road. They kept driving until they were in the middle of nowhere, a thing Burrows didn’t think possible so close to a city supporting three million people, when Kesler pulled off to the side of the road, his lights flickering out when he turned off the engine.

Burrows did the same, stopping well back and walking the rest of the way to his teammate’s car. Kesler was nowhere to be seen when Burrows reached his car and he stood in the dark and looked about making up his mind whether to see if he could guess which way Kesler had gone. The point was moot as shots rang out and Kesler bolted out of the darkness.

“Alex? What—” he broke off as a bullet exploded the window in front of him. “Get in!” he barked.

Burrows didn’t need to be told twice, jerking open the passenger’s side door and dropping into the seat. Kesler had the car speeding down the road before Burrows had closed the door.

“What the hell is going on?” Burrows shouted over the roar of the engine as Kesler floored it. “Why are people shooting at you?”

“Why did you follow me?” Kesler shouted back an edge to his voice.

“Seriously? You’re mad at me? I’m not the one going out on clandestine meetings where people are shooting at me!”

The Jag fishtailed as Kesler took a corner without slowing down and Burrows dug his fingers into his chairs leather arm rests as his heart tried to jump out of his chest. “Where are we going?” he asked finally. “You know my car’s back there right?” he added when there was no answer.

“I hope you locked your doors.”

 

Burrows fell asleep at some point, after he’d grown tired of Kesler’s non-answers. When he woke up it was light but the sky was still tinged with rose along the horizon. He sat up, wincing at the crick in his neck, and looked at the radio’s clock. 8:30.

“Where are we?” he asked looking out the window at the snow covered ground. Kesler had slowed the Jag down to the legal limit and they were pulling into a gas station.

“Roseburg. Oregon,” he added when Burrows stared blankly then got out of the car before Burrows could say anything.

“What do you mean we’re in Oregon?” Burrows demanded scrambling out of the Jag after Kesler.

“It seemed pretty self-explanatory,” Kesler said unscrew his gas cap and inserting the nozzle, watching the metre count up.

The bells on the gas station door jingled and they looked over to see the teenage attendant walking towards them. “Man, she’s a beauty,” he said touching the hood reverently. “What happened to her window?”

“A semi blew past us on the highway, threw up a rock that shattered the window,” Kesler answered. “Sprayed glass all over me.”

“That sucks. There’s an auto shop just down the road that could replace it for you if you’re going to be in town for a few days.” The look on his face said he wanted them to stick around just so he could look at the Jag.

“Thanks,” Kesler said passing the attendant a fifty to pay for the gas. Burrows noticed for the first time that Kesler’s hands were cut up and streaked with dried blood. The attendant headed back inside, glancing back wistfully over his shoulder.

“I’ll take you to the bus station and you can get a ride back to Vancouver,” Kesler said getting back into the car.

Burrows followed him. “No,” he said stubbornly. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why people were shooting at you and why we’re in Oregon.” He crossed his arms and glared for emphasis. “What’s going on Ryan?”

Kesler glared back then the eerie calm he’d been displaying since last night crumbled. He leaned back in his seat tiredly. “I’m in trouble Alex,” he said sounding defeated. “I’m in too deep with the wrong kind of people.”

“What kind of people are we talking about?”

Kesler put the Jag in drive and pulled out of the gas station, driving aimlessly down the street. “A few months ago I was approached by a police detective. He asked me about a poker game I’d been playing with some guys I’d grown up with back in Wisconsin. One of them had developed ties with the Italian Mafia since I knew him and the detective thought I could help him get information on the mafia.”

“And you agreed?”

Kesler looked at him. “Detective Evans was very persuasive,” he said dryly.

“So what happened after that?”

Kesler shrugged slightly. “I guess they found out that I was working with the police.” He pulled the Jag into a vacant parking lot where no one could overhear them. “Then it just seemed easier to keep driving and I have no connections in Oregon so…” he let his voice trail off and they sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Running away isn’t going to solve anything.”

“I can’t go back to Vancouver.”

“Okay. We play Minnesota tomorrow night, we should have just enough time to get to St. Paul if we drive all day and night. That ought to give us enough time to come up with a plan.”

“All right. I just hope they don’t have anyone waiting for me in Minnesota.”

 

They postponed their journey for an hour to stop at a diner and grab coffee and breakfast and improvise a window for the Jag to keep the cold air out. Burrows took over driving once they’d left the diner so that Kesler could catch up on some sleep since he’d been up since before the game yesterday. When Kesler had gone to the washroom to clean up his hands Burrows had called Bieksa. He and Kesler had agreed not to let anyone know where they were but Burrows wanted to let someone know that they were okay and have someone go pick up his car.

Kesler slept for the first four hours of the drive, not stirring even when Burrows grew bored and started singing along with the radio. Eye of the Tiger was playing loudly when he finally woke up.

“Where are we?” Kesler asked sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Just about to The Dalles,” Burrows answered. “I was thinking about our problem. What if we could convince your Mafia friend that you weren’t spying on them?”

“How would we do that?”

“What made them suspect that you were working for the police?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Burrows glared at him from the driver’s seat. “You’ve got to give me something to work with Ryan.”

“Sorry. I just don’t really know what happened.” Kesler stopped, a thoughtful expression on his face then he shook his head. “Things were going fine, I got a call from my friend that his boss wanted to meet me last night and the next thing I knew they were shooting at me.”

“What did you talk about?”

Kesler snorted. “We hardly even got past introductions.”

“Did anyone know you were going to this meeting?”

“I called Detective Evans before the game but he was the only one.”

“Shouldn’t he have had someone there to watch your back?”

“I guess he didn’t want to tip them off. You don’t think he tipped them off? Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know but someone told them.”

They switched seats when they reached The Dalles and Burrows’ cellphone rang.

“Hey Kevin,” he answered doing up his seatbelt. “What’s up?”

“What the hell were you doing last night?” Bieksa demanded. “I went to pick up your car and there were cops everywhere. They brought me in for questioning; they think you and Kesler killed people!”

“What! Wait a second Bieksa I’m going to put you on speaker.” He did so and put the phone on the dash between him in Kesler. “All right what happened?”

“I went to pick up your car like you told me to,” Burrows ignored the accusing look Kesler gave him at this sentence, “and the place was crawling with cops. These two uniforms are giving me a hard time about the car when this detective comes barrelling over—”

“What did he look like?” Kesler interrupted.

“Older guy, balding, looked like he’d enjoyed a few too many donuts.”

Kesler relaxed slightly. “Can you do me a favour Kevin? Get in touch with Detective Evans—”

“Right that was his name. How’d you know that?”

“What?”

“The detective who questioned me, his name was Evans. What did you want me to tell him?”

“Nothing,” Burrows answered over Kesler’s stunned silence. “Do you know who we supposedly killed?”

“They haven’t released that information but I heard one of the cops comment that no one would be too sorry over their deaths so I doubt they were upstanding members of the community.”

“Thanks Kevin. We’ll see you in Minnesota.”

“You’d better. Tortorella was pissed when he heard you two were gone.”

Burrows ended the call. “Not the Detective Evans you knew I take it?”

Kesler shook his head. “Not even close.”

“We should turn ourselves in,” Burrows said. “Tell the police what we know.”

“Your faith in the police must be greater than mine is right now. If I were Evans, the fake one I mean, I’d make sure that there was a pretty strong case against my fall guy.”

“Running is just going to make us look guiltier.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” Kesler said glaring.

Burrows grinned. “I know.”

 

They got into St Paul with just enough time to Tortorella read them the riot act, tell them that he would handle the police and the press, and to get ready for the game. They lost 3-2 in a shootout which did nothing to improve anyone’s mood.They were spending the night in Minnesota then flying to Dallas for their game on the 19th. Tortorella pulled Kesler and Burrows aside while everyone else headed for the hotel.

“I’ve spoken with Detective Evans he doesn’t want the publicity any more than we do so he’s agreed to keep your names out of this and let us finish our road trip so long as you two are available for questioning the second we’re back in Vancouver. Just to be safe I don’t want you two leaving your hotel room except to go to the airport or games, understood?”

They agreed and headed out of the X into the parking lot.

“Thanks,” Kesler said as they walked towards his Jag.

Burrows looked over at him. “What for?”

Kesler punched his arm lightly. “You know what for idiot.”

“Mr. Kesler!” a voice called from behind them.

Both Kesler and Burrows turned. A tall, athletic man in a blue police uniform was standing a few feet from them.

“Detective Evans,” Kesler said scowling. “Switched to Minnesota P.D. I see.”

“I go where the work is,” the false detective said with a smile. “Please get into the car gentlemen.”

“What do you get out of setting Ryan up for murder?” Burrows demanded taking a step towards Evans.

Evans lifted his hand so that Burrows could see the gun in his hand. “We’ll talk about that later. Get in the car, I won’t ask again,” he said to Kesler shifting the gun towards him. Burrows moved quickly, knocking Evans’ gun hand up and punching him in the stomach and again in the face. Evans stumbled back and Burrows followed. Pain exploded in his chest and he heard a loud sound like a car backfiring through the parking lot. He fell to his knees and looked down to see red seeping through the front of his shirt.

“Alex!” he heard Kesler shout though he sounded far away.

Evans was back on his feet the gun held out in front of him, all attempts at secrecy gone. “Get into the car Kesler,” he ordered his voice growing faint as well. “Unless you want me to put another bullet into your friend.”

Evans stepped out of Burrows’ sight as he slumped onto the pavement, black spots poking holes in his vision. The last thing he saw was the Jag spinning off into the night.


	2. Chapter Two

Kesler drove, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, until they were far away from the Excel Energy Centre and down some dark streets that he didn’t recognize.

“Stop here,” Evans ordered from the back seat. Kesler glanced in the rear-view mirror then did as he was told, pulling the Jag off to the side of the alley. “Turn the engine off and get out.”

Once they were on the street they started walking, Evans shoving Kesler forward anytime he started to drag his feet.

“Where are we going?” Kesler asked trying not to think of Burrows lying in the parking lot of the Excel Centre, bleeding out onto the pavement. He hoped he’d done the right thing leaving him, he didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if Alex died because of him.

“Here.” Evans directed him up the stairs of a low income apartment building. They reached the third floor and into an east facing apartment. “Sit down.” He gestured to one of the wooden chairs arranged around the kitchen table.

Kesler pulled the chair out and sat, strapping his ankles to the chair legs and wrists to the chair arms with zip-ties as directed. “Why are you doing this?” he asked again.

Evans didn’t answer, positioning a strip of duct tape across Kesler’s mouth. He grabbed a bottle of beer out of the fridge, settling himself on the cheap sofa. Kesler watched as Evans pulled out a pocket knife, used the bottle opener attachment to pop the cap off his beer then placed both on the coffee table in front of him. There was a television in the corner of the room, the screen visible to both Evans and Kesler, and Evans picked up the remote and turned the television on. The screen flickered and a reporter appeared.

“We will continue to bring you updates on the shooting as events develop,” the blonde newswoman said.

Evan’s switched to another channel, also news.

“The victim was 32 year old Alexandre Menard-Burrows, a hockey player with the Vancouver Canucks. He was shot here outside the Excel Energy Centre two hours ago, shortly after finishing a game against Minnesota’s own Wild. Witnesses say Burrows was seen leaving the stadium with another man, presumed to be 29 year old teammate Ryan Kesler. Kesler’s whereabouts are currently unknown.”

Evans flicked through more channels acting like he was looking for something. He stopped on another news station.

“—moved to St. Joseph’s Hospital where he’s reported to be in critical but stable condition.”

The camera view switched to a couple of guys behind a desk. “Man that would be a rough thing if this were to end Burrows career.”

The other man shook his head. “I bet the Canucks are wondering if this is going to hurt their chances in the playoffs.”

“Fortunately for the Canucks they still have a few months to get someone else into Burrows’ slot.”

Evans chuckled and flicked the television off. Kesler switched his glare from the television to his captor.

“You can put your mind at ease,” Evans said looking over at Kesler. “Your friend isn’t likely to die tonight.”

Kesler was glad he could still move his hand enough to flip him off.

Before Evans could respond his cell phone rang. “Hello?” he answered. He jumped to his feet a second later, surprising Kesler by speaking Canadian French rapidly. He’d spent enough time with Burrows to recognize a few of the words but frustratingly not enough to make out most of what was being said. Evans abruptly strode out of the apartment, still talking on the phone, and Kesler heard the lock click in the door. He turned his head and stared at the door but there was no sound from outside.

Kesler looked back over at the coffee table where Evans had left his pocket knife. The situation seemed like a setup but he knew he’d be kicking himself later if he didn’t take the opportunity. The coffee table was less than ten feet away but it looked like a hundred from where he was sitting tied to the chair. He rocked the chair slightly back and forth, trying to walk the chair to the table, thankful for the carpet that helped muffle the sound. He was halfway there when the chair tipped too far to the right and tipped all the way over. His head glanced against the corner of the sofa as he fell and the room spun for a second as he lay on the floor. He managed to pull himself along the carpet far enough that he could push at the nearest leg of the coffee table with his foot trying to shove it back and forth so that the knife would slide off. The bottle of beer tipped over, rolling onto the carpet and spilling the alcohol everywhere, but he couldn’t get enough force to get the knife to slide. He swore as best he could with his mouth taped shut and wriggled closer. He twisted his right hand around so that he could get a proper grip on the table leg, wincing as the tie cut at his wrist, and pressed his foot against the far table leg and managed to get enough leverage to tip the table. It crashed to the floor and the knife nearly bounced underneath the sofa. Kesler kicked the table back out of the way and slid forward, grabbing the knife. He managed to pry open one of the blades and slide the blade under the zip-tie but he couldn’t get enough leverage with his hand pinned down. He jammed the base of the knife beneath the arm of his chair and twisted his wrist back and forth so that the plastic tie slid over the blade until it cut through. With his right arm freed it was much easier cutting the ties on his left arm and his legs. He stumbled to his feet, reeking of beer that had soaked into his sweater from the carpet, and went to the door. As he’d expected he couldn’t open it. He walked back through the living room and looked out the window. The drop was straight down, but he pried the window open and looked to either side. Not far to his left was a drainpipe that ran to the ground but he hesitated to trust his weight to it. He stepped back from the window and walked into the bedroom and bathroom but he didn’t see anything he thought he could use, there was nothing in any of the cupboards and there were no blankets on the bed. He stared at the mattress for a minute, thinking he could throw it down underneath the drainpipe but he didn’t think he’d be able to get it through the window. He went back into the living room and pulled the cushions off of the couch and tossed them out of the window. They landed reasonably close to the drainpipe but he doubted they’d do much to break his fall if the pipe snapped off of the wall.

There was a sound outside the door and Kesler launched himself out of the window and onto the drainpipe. The metal groaned eerily and Kesler cringed, moving as quickly as he could down the cold metal. When he was past the halfway point the braces broke off the wall and the pipe swung out with a deadly screech. Kesler let go and fell backwards, missing the cushions but the snow helping to break his fall. He stumbled to his feet and away from the apartment building. He wasn’t sure where he was going and his head was throbbing as he wandered through St. Paul’s snow covered streets. The streets started to look familiar after a while but it was getting hard to concentrate and he just wanted to lie down and have a nap. He continued to trudge along the streets moving by instinct towards the bright lights of the city centre. He aware when he wandered into the middle of a busy street and only felt a dull pain when something slammed into him and the sounds of horns blaring faded away.

 

His head felt hazy when he woke up. He looked around and the white that he saw was the walls of a hospital room instead of snow covered streets. He moved slightly and heard a metallic clink. Looking down he saw that his hands were cuffed to the bedframe, the tube of an IV sticking out from beneath a square of plaster on his left hand. He groaned and dropped his head back onto the pillow.

He looked up as the door opened and a man in scrubs walked into the room, pushing a cart. Even in his drugged state he recognized the false Detective Evans. “I’m getting really sick of you,” he said as his hand crept towards the call button.

Evans smiled as he picked a syringe up from his cart and filled it from a small bottle. “You can press that all you like, I disconnected you from the monitoring system.”

“What is that?” Kesler asked looking at the needle suspiciously.

“Just something to help you sleep.”

“The kind I won’t wake up from I assume? Won’t you at least tell me what I’ve done to deserve any of this?” he asked as Evans inserted the needle into the valve near the IV bag.

“That’s the trouble with you Americans, you always think everything is about you.” Evans finished with the needle and dropped it into the biohazard slot.

“You mean I shouldn’t take someone trying to kill me personally?” Kesler retorted.

Evans pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. “We’ve got a few minutes before the drug takes effect,” he said pleasantly. “So I’ll let you in on a little secret. Do you know what the best way to destroy a man is? Destroy the people he cares about. You’re only the first on my list, I would have been disappointed if Alexandre had died before I was finished.”

Kesler stared at him. “You mean you’ve set me up for murder those four guys in Vancouver and the shooting of my best friend because you have a grudge against my friend?”

“Yes.”

They stared at one another for a minute then Evans looked up at the IV bag with a frown.

“Hey Evans,” Kesler said. “You’re an idiot.” He held his left hand up so that Evans could see the plaster peeled back and the end of the IV plugged.

The door to the room opened and two men stepped inside, both with drawn guns pointed at Evans.

“Get onto the floor,” the taller of the two said. “Face down. Hands on your back.”

Evans glared at Kesler but did as he was told.

The shorter of the two men moved forward and cuffed Evans hands.

“Thank you for your help Mr. Kesler,” the real Detective Evans said as Detective Isaac from the Minnesota P.D. escorted the false Evans out of the room.

“It’s the least I could do since he was trying to kill me.”

The detective smiled and collected the handcuffs from Kesler. “True but thank you anyway. I hope to see you and Mr. Burrows playing again soon.”

“We’ll send you tickets for the first game we’re back.”

The detective thanked him and left the room.


	3. Epilogue

“I’m confused, you really were working with the police?” Burrows asked. He had regained consciousness a few days ago and been moved to the recovery ward where he could have visitors. Most of the team had had to leave since they still had games to play but Kesler had stuck around since he was benched until he’d healed more after his adventures.

“Sort of,” Kesler admitted. “I was approached by the fake detective Evans, his name’s actually Warren Lathrop, and it started the way I told you but the morning when I was supposed to meet with the mafia bosses I went to the station to tell Evans that I didn’t want to be part of this anymore. That’s when I met the actual Detective Evans. When he learned that someone was impersonating him and that the mafia was involved he asked me to keep the meeting. The shooting was unexpected and I really did try to flee to Oregon. I called Detective Evans from the diner and told him what had happened. I don’t know if I would have had the guts to do that if you weren’t there with me.” Kesler paused for a minute. “Anyway, he wasn’t happy that I’d run but he said it was understandable. I told him that we were heading for Minnesota to meet our team and he promised to get in touch with the Minnesota P.D. and let them know what was going on since he was going to leave us as suspects to throw Lathrop off. Um, I kind of knew about the shooting before Bieksa called you. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you ahead of time.”

“I take it things didn’t work out exactly as planned since I got shot and you got hit by a car,” Burrows said, laughing slightly then wincing at the pain the motion caused.

“I’m sorry Alex, I never thought you’d get hurt.”

“I don’t blame you for that. I’m just glad you caught the guy before he could do anymore damage. Especially since you say he did all of this to get to me.”

“Are you sure you didn’t recognize him?” Kesler asked hesitantly. “I know you only saw him the once and it wasn’t the best light…”

“The bastard shot me Kes. Trust me, I saw him well enough that I would have known if I ever did something to him bad enough to make him want to destroy the lives of the people I care about and eventually kill me. Let’s get back to your story, what happened after I was shot?”

“Lathrop took me to an apartment, I learned later that it was registered in my name, and while we were there he got a call from someone and started speaking French. He got really agitated and left. I hit my head while I was freeing myself and escaped out the window. The blow to the head is probably why I wasn’t thinking clearly and wandered into the street. I came to in the hospital and had a very brief conversation with Evans about what had happened before Lathrop showed up and tried to kill me.” Kesler shrugged. “That’s about it. Oh, when were both back to playing we have to send the detective tickets to a game.”

“I wonder who he was talking to when you were at the apartment,” Burrows said thoughtfully.

“I’m just glad they’ve arrested him and we can put this behind us.”

“Yeah,” Burrows agreed. “I’m kind of tired, can we talk later?”

“Sure.” Kesler stood up stiffly. “See you later Burr.”

“See you.” Burrows watched Kesler leave then turned his head towards the window and frowned.


End file.
